


1 man 1 turtle

by OneWhoShitsWithTurtles (orphan_account)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bestiality, Coprophilia, M/M, Other, Scat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OneWhoShitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a strange way of relieving his stress after a mission.</p>
<p>Eames is surprised to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1 man 1 turtle

After completing inception, Eames thought life might get a little less exciting. He was wrong. Dominic Cobb is a bastard who still manages to get them in exhausting, impossibly difficult scrapes.

At least there's still ten minutes left in the first layer of the dream to relax. Eames is pleased with himself for convincing Ariadne to add a spa room in every level. A pretty blonde with a large rack massages his feet. Ariadne swore at him for being a misogynistic dick but then dreamed up the blonde's twin to massage _her_ feet. He just exchanges a grin with her. They all have their own post-mission rituals.

Cobb's taking his frustration out on an arcade machine. Saito, who bought them each a small island in order to keep "vacationing" with them, hovers by his shoulder, pointing out aliens that Cobb has missed. And Arthur-

Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

Huh. Eames did think he was having too easy a time relaxing.

"Where's stick in the mud?" Eames hollers over to Cobb.

Cobb thumbs at the door. "Arthur has his own specific post-mission relaxation. I wouldn't interrupt if I were you."

It's Cobb's shudder that decides it. Eames ushers his blonde over to massage Ariadne's hands and gets to his feet.

"Don't say I didn't tell you so," Cobb tells him as he heads out the door.

 

It takes Eames two of their remaining eight minutes to find Arthur.

Specifically, he finds Arthur's ass first. Lily-white and pleasingly plump, it's both an absurd and arousing site to behold.

"Hold _still_ ," Arthur murmurs and that's when Eames stops walking forwards and freezes.

Because Arthur seems to be squatting over a turtle.

_What._

"Little bastard," Arthur says and shuffles forwards, his pale ass bobbing enticingly, pants pooled around his ankles. "Yeah, hold right there."

Eames stares in fascination as the muscles in Arthur's rear flex, his thighs strain, and his asshole puckers pleasantly - right before it slowly widens, a thick brown substance sliding thickly out of the hole. Unaware of its impending doom, the turtle bobs its head happily, before the top of the feces lands neatly on the middle of its shell. The poop keeps coming, though, long and smooth and glossy brown, and Eames thinks he's repulsed until Arthur makes this  _sound,_ a low moan tearing out of his throat, resonating down Eames' skin and pooling into his groin. 

Shit.  _Literally._

"What the-?" Eames finds himself blurting, too turned-on to think properly. The shit would be warm, he thinks, pushing up against Arthur's inner walls, thick and unending. He wants to fuck that space, maybe still hot with Arthur's feces, a slick-slide against his cock.

Arthur tenses his ass-cheeks, letting the poop finish and fall in a neat line down the middle of the turtle's shell before turning his head over his shoulder. His smile is sated, content. "Dreams are for doing stuff you could never do in real life."

"Oh," Eames says. "I mean, yes, I know that. I just didn't think you'd realized that. Obviously I was wrong."

Arthur isn't even doing his pants up. Instead his asshole puckers again, like he's gearing up for another shit. "My uncle once crashed into a tree avoiding a turtle on the road," Arthur says. "Obviously I can't do this upside."

"Not on a turtle," Eames says. Arthur's next shit comes out rather quickly, like he's surprised into it, and his eyes flicker down to Eames' crotch with a pleased grin.

 "Maybe  _with_  a turtle," Arthur says.

Eames wrinkles his nose, ready to explain that bestiality isn't really his thing, but then Arthur points at Eames' garish jacket, a replica of turtle print. Eames honestly can't remember if he's been wearing it the whole mission, or if it's changed just to accommodate Arthur's, uh, interesting kink. The turtle beneath Arthur's legs looks up at them both judgmentally before ambling off into the sea.


End file.
